We All Have Our Secrets

[Magda Eisenhardt]

"Humans can not be trusted," Magda closed her eyes for a moment but opened then when he spoke again. "I hope you realize that now," Yes, she could see that now. Her eyes lowered her her arm, and she turned to look around the kitchen to hide her actions; because when she looked at the name on her arm it reminded her all too well of the cost when humans reacted to them. Then it was to him, and now it was to her. "Yes." She believed him now. Believe it for herself.

Even she she did nothing. When she befriended them and built a life! YEARS spent as their friend meant NOTHING! "I see it now." Looking away from the name, Magda begin opening the cabinets and looking around; before going to the fridge and opening it too. They had the basics, but nothing overly fancy--with luck however she was raised with nothing but the less then basics. Magda could make do.

Noticing the things she needed, Magda smiled softly. "I am going to make some potato soup." His favorite. He had said so that night a long time ago when they first refound each other. "I can make enough for two."

[Erik Lehnsherr]

He noticed her look down at her arm for a brief moment and Magneto's own gaze followed her. What he saw however was not the numbers that had once branded her skin. Instead, he saw other letters, characters. A language he did not recognize, but assumed was one of her people for she had told him before her plans to cover it up. She then offered potato soup and his eyes went to meet hers. "I'm fine," he told her. He had not had potato soup since. . . well, since the last time she had made it for him.

He had admitted that it was one of his favorite dishes. For it was a dish that his own mother would make for him; a strong comfort food. "I see you found something," he began to say with a bit of a smile. "A word to cover up the numbers," he added, vividly remembering that conversation they had about something. How she had wanted it to be meaningful. Some special. "May I ask what you decided to tattoo there?" He asked, knowing that she did not have to tell him, but wished to inquire on the possibility that she would. For he was curious. Curious and intrigued.

[Magda Eisenhardt]

Magda ignored his words, still pulling down enough for two, and finding a pan but no pot. She could fix that easy enough--she was in the kitchen with a man who could bend it into one. It made things so much easier. "I see you found something," Magda smiled and turned to fully face him, holding up the pan, assuming he meant that. "A word to cover up the numbers," Her smile faltered, and she paused. "May I ask what you decided to tattoo there?" Before if anyone asked what it said, she would just tell them something else.

With Erik however, she knew that if anyone knew the truth, it should be him. "I did." Sitting the pan down, Magda walked toward him and held out her arm, so he could look at it if he pleased too. "This grouping," She pointed tot he second half of the letters. Clearly there were two words on her arm, she was pointing to the second word. The one that had many loops, curls and then clearly two symbols that almost looked like Ms in the English symbols. Ironic for who he was now. "Is Lehnsherr." His name. The one that would never have been her own. Her fingers drifted toward the other name, "This one is Ania."

[Erik Lehnsherr]

When she came toward him and held out her arm, his hand went to gently hold it, placing his fingers under her forearm and his thumb near her palm. She was explaining the grouping to him. While she had taught him how to speak the language, he had not learned how to read it. So perhaps he could consider this as a lesson in Romani. She revealed that they spelled Lehnsherr. His name. Or well, his last name. He was unsure if the first part would be Erik, as logic seemed to tell him so. Logic, not arrogance . . . clearly. So waiting for her to tell him that, instead, she spoke another name. One that caused whatever small smile he had on his lips to fade. One that made him stare at the letters a little too much. One that made him let go of her arm. And one that made him take a rather large gulp of his drink.

Ania He was unsure how to react to that. For it was a name that they were going to call their unborn daughter. A daughter who had not yet met this world for she was killed at the hands of humans. He remained quiet. Pensive. Forcing back all emotions that stirred in his heart at the mention of this name. "Then you succeeded," he finally said in a low voice. His eyes raised to hers, not letting himself mourn in this moment for the daughter that they never had. And the one that he had rejected by never offering his commitment to raise her. "In finding something meaningful to replace the numbers," he finished.

[Magda Eisenhardt]

Magda wasn't sure what to take how words to mean, and even when he let her go, and moved to drink, she stayed near. Even going as far as to take a step closer, and use her two hands to hold his one. "I thought it should have been a happy word, or something with meaning--but nothing meant more to me then her." And there was more, "It was also a reminder, of what I had lost because of not hiding the parts of me that was different. Of you not hiding."

"I know now that hiding was pointless and a waste of many years. But when I got her name there, I felt I was honoring her, more then just trying to remind myself not to trust anyone. It was all I had left to give her. . . . and to remember you by." Which was why she had given Ania his name, and put his name on her arm when she could have just put Ania. "I even made a tea, and named it after her. I never forgot her. Not for a single day---just as I never forgot you, or did not think of you."

[Erik Lehnsherr]

Magda moved to touch his hand, as she spoke of Ania. Of the reasoning behind the tattoo. How it served as a reminder of what she had lost, and the lessons it had taught her. His eyes went to the tattoo again, thinking of that time in their lives where they had been struck by grief and heartache. Even if he had not offered to be a good father to Ania, did not mean he didn't feel broken when hearing that she had died. An innocent child. A mutant. For knowing that Magda was one now, meant that Ania would have most definitely been of their race. And she had been murdered at the hands of humans, just like so many other mutants had been.

"I wish you had a far less painful memory to honor," he told her. Even if it had ended differently between them. He knew what her daughter had meant to her. He remembered how devastated she was by her loss. For what their lives held in the past, was a sad one filled with losing those they loved. When would it get better? He wanted it to, for Magda. Since for himself, he knew that this was the life he would lead for the rest of his days. "It is a rather perfect name," he added, still trying to withhold emotion from his tone, but feared it was starting to slip a little. He had never spoken of Ania to anyone. And now to hear of her, speak of her after so many years . . . it felt slightly overwhelming.

[Magda Eisenhardt]

"It is a perfect name." Magda agreed, "One that would have done her proud should she have gotten to use it." Magda leaved over and kissed his cheek, before pulling back. "Both of the names." Lehnsherr too. Magda had no doubt that even if Erik had not been there, Ania would have done him proud. Then it was a bitter thought, now with 16 years between her pain and now she could think on it with a different view.

"You'd have been a good father in a different life, Erik. I believe that. But it wasn't meant for us. This is where your path needed you to be. Because someone had to fight for us. Someone has sot stand up for the ones who were like me, and too frightened to do so. I can see it now. Everything lead you here. You fight so others do not end like our daughter. So others so not end up like we were in the camps. In that you honor her too. That I also believe. That gives me comfort."

Reaching over she picked up the pan and held it out to him, "Will you make me a pot?"

[Erik Lehnsherr]

He remained still when she kissed his cheek, a tender action that he'd not experienced in many years -- despite the fact that they had just been rather intimate in her bedroom. It was her next words that caused him to pause as he looked at her. She believed him. No, she understood him. It was not that she ever really lacked faith in him, nor rejected him for his beliefs -- until the death of Ania -- however now, she understood where they came from. And that, was important. More than important in fact. He felt a whole new wave of affection for her, hearing her admit that she understood why he had to be here. Why he was needed here. And it was to fight, for their kind. He did not have to preach that to her; she came to the realization herself. And while he wished she could have been spared the pain of the kidnapping, he was rather glad she was aware of the truth that this world held. A truth that so many others were still blind to. He remained silent, pensive. Taking in her words. She then held out a pan and asked for a pot.

A very slight smile crept onto his lips as he looked at the metal, slightly raising and turning his hand so that the sides bent upward to create let of a flat surface and curve to make a pot that could contain liquid. "I had often thought that if you were a mutant, we would have still been together." A consideration he had made when he had not known that she actually was a mutant -- and apparently, she had not been aware of this either. "However I realized that it was not just our race that would have kept us together. But rather, a unity in our beliefs and understanding of the world." Something that they seemed to have now. "I despise what the humans have done to you." Taken her. Instilled that fear in her. "But perhaps there was a higher purpose for it. If only to make you stronger. To bring you here." To reunite with him. "A place where you no longer need be frightened by your mutation and what it may cost you." Because she was banded with others who would fight against that. And because he would not let her get harmed.

[Magda Eisenhardt]

Magda smiled at the new pot, and turned to begin cooking, her back toward Erik while facing the stone--which would turn out to be a good thing. "I had often thought that if you were a mutant, we would have still been together." Her hand paused over reaching for a spoon, as he words came to her. Then she begin moving again. His words hurt some, but they were ones she had wondered at too. If she had went to Erik and showed him what was happening to her, would he have taken her back?

She also knew however, that she wanted to have been enough, and she had not wanted to come second. She had feared that road he was on. "I despise what the humans have done to you." As did she, both times. The camps and now. And the years of fear. "But perhaps there was a higher purpose for it. If only to make you stronger. To bring you here." A purpose to the hate? That almost made it worse. There was no purpose behind someone hating and killing another race. There was no greater purpose. No reason! It was evil! It was pointless, and stupid and evil!

"A place where you no longer need be frightened by your mutation and what it may cost you." But it had already cost her. Everything. She had nothing now. No friends. No home. She wasn't even sure where she stood with Erik, or how long she'd stay here. She wanted to stay, and be safe, but what good was she to these people? She wasn't. She was a weight, only here to slow them down.

Reaching up she wiped the lone tear from her cheek, grateful he could not see her face, "I try not to look at the past in terms of what if." Picking up the metal knife, she began carefully skinning and cutting the potatoes. Her actions slower because of her words, "A person could go mad if they did." Too many what if's. Too many almost. Even if she'd been honest with him then, and she almost had. She'd still had been second. Now she knew it too. She wasn't the second most important thing to him, she knew that she wasn't that any longer, but she also knew thing time that she'd never be his first. Knowing it going in with both eyes open, meant she could guard a bit of herself from that hurt once again. "And too many what if's for the future, even if there are some foolish enough to believe otherwise. I only know what is happening now, yet even now I find I am unsure of the everything. I only know I am tired of the fear. That I am tired of the death. Everything else I have yet to come to terms with." Her powers. Being with him again.

Wanting to keep the mood lighter (er) she picked up a peeling and turned to toss it at him. "This is a good place. It's good you've given others a place to turn too. Some place safe."